


Blank

by evangelinerose



Series: Draco One Shots & Drabbles [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Language, Mentions of Injuries, Mentions of Violence, Sexual Themes, War Fic, dystopian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22785985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: Y/N can’t stand yet another boring day at the Order safe house. And one day suddenly becomes decidedly not boring. Draco x Reader, Dystopian AU. One Shot. Kinda.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You
Series: Draco One Shots & Drabbles [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1427173
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





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**Author's Note:**

> This actually takes place in the same universe and after the events of "One Dance", here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749511. But like that one, this can also be read as a stand alone one shot.

Something was happening downstairs.

That much was obvious from the loud clatter of the front door, the scuffling of footsteps, the heated voices whisper-shouting from the landing.

Y/N could hear all of this from the corridor outside her room on the second floor, but try as she might she couldn’t hear what the voices were saying. The only thing she heard—and she wasn’t certain she had heard correctly, anyway—was a disbelieving male voice saying something like:

“—can’t be _serious_ —”

The whisper-shouting grew more ferocious but less intelligible.

Y/N slipped inside her room when she heard footsteps beginning to move to the stairs, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. What sounded like a small group of people moved through the corridor—she was standing at the door, listening hard; but no one was speaking, and she couldn’t decipher what was happening.

She gnashed her teeth in frustration but knew going out wouldn’t do anything. They would just send her back to her room until they felt like explaining, and that was, unfortunately, that.

God, she hated the safe house.

It was so utterly _boring_ here.

The worst part was the weather, the safe house being so far north that it was almost always cloudy and dark and dreary. Or perhaps the worst part was the complete lack of information. Or the mood in the air, the one like an always thrumming static electricity—tense and on edge and never escaping the feeling that something would happen. Training, stretching her Healing skills, practicing spells, dueling outdoors in all weather; but for what? She was never allowed to go anywhere, despite telling them how helpful she could be.

Never entirely trusted.

_We don’t want you to have to make a difficult choice_ , they said.

_You realize what you might have to do if you meet the wrong person_ , they warned, as if she hadn’t thought of it.

But all she heard was:

_Not quite trusted._

Sometimes, Y/N recklessly wished something would happen.

Some days it felt like even some terrible danger would be better than the monotony of it all.

Today she was getting what she wanted in the most unexpected of ways.

She had flung herself on her bed and had been staring listlessly at the ceiling for less than five minutes when, surprisingly, she heard voices again in the corridor. They were still hushed, and almost certainly still arguing.

She crept to the door as quietly as possible.

“–not a good idea, there’s almost certainly bad blood between them–”

This was Andromeda. Y/N would recognize her voice from miles away, probably. The woman had practically raised her the past few years, after all, and had been her impromptu trainer when it came to Healing matters.

And this _was_ Andromeda’s safe house. She was always reliably here.

“She’s mature enough to handle it,” said a firm, deep voice, and a surge of pride rushed through Y/N at hearing Kingsley defend her. It meant a lot. Kingsley was well respected within the fraying Order.

“I’m not questioning her maturity,” said Andromeda. “I just didn’t know if it would make things difficult for _her_ , what with her background–”

“We all have a background,” said Kingsley, his voice too booming to truly be quiet. “You also have one in Pureblood culture, Andromeda, and we need as many experienced Healers as we can get, frankly.”

“But it was so long ago for me. Not for her. What if–”

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. She wrenched the door open and the two inhabitants of the corridor looked around at her in surprise. “I want to help,” said Y/N immediately, and fiercely. “Whatever it is, I want to help.”

“I should have known you were listening,” said Andromeda, half grumbling, half affectionate, while appraising her carefully.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You were arguing outside my door. Quite loudly. Now what’s happened? I want to–”

“Yes, come on, then,” said Andromeda quickly, seemingly making up her mind that it wasn’t worth arguing any longer on the matter, taking Y/N’s hand, and pulling her down the corridor and toward the staircase going up.

The safe house was three stories high, and Andromeda was leading her to the top floor. “Two people have escaped Malfoy Manor,” said Andromeda, as the two made their way through the bare, dismal corridor of this wretched place.

Y/N hated the little clenching of her heart just at hearing that name.

_Malfoy_.

A few things flitted through her mind, try as she might to suppress them.

A pair of intense grey eyes.

A pale hand on her hip, trailing to her outer thighs, his breath and lips trailing on the back of her neck making her skin tingle and her senses melt.

A whisper, her own, raspy: “I hate you.”

A chuckle in her ear, his, with an answer, drawled casually as if nothing mattered, and she was quite certain, sometimes, that nothing _did_ matter to him: “I hate you too, princess.”

_Princess_.

Said as both a taunt and as seduction.

He had always known the nickname simultaneously made her blood boil in anger and want. Bloody arrogant prick.

“Which is why we won’t tell anyone about this arrangement, will we?” she heard him murmur, lips back on her neck, as if it had been yesterday.

“Never,” she had agreed, with a sigh.

More memories: the same grey eyes, cold and distant, 7th year, the last time she had seen them up close–until a few months ago, when those eyes had been behind a masquerade ball mask and looked just as hard and icy as ever.

Y/N blinked, snapping herself out of it. “Injuries?” she asked briskly, trying to get into Healer mode.

Sometimes, Andromeda told her, it was easier to try and have a part of your brain to switch on and off when you Healed people. It was best to have detachment; a cool, logical piece of you that you allowed to come forward, dominate, and call the shots. It helped, she claimed, when it was a loved one that you had to fix up quickly, or when the injuries were so terrible and graphic one didn’t know where to start.

Andromeda glanced sideways at Y/N. “Already taken care of,” she said. “Nothing incredibly serious. One of them was buried under a staircase that collapsed in a duel. Nothing a few quick spells and some Blood Replenishing potion over the next few days won’t fix. It was lucky.”

“That was all?” Y/N was relieved. “Often prisoners escape with worse.”

“These weren’t prisoners.” For the first time, Y/N noted that Andromeda looked drawn and pale.

“What? But—but then…”

They had arrived at the door, and Andromeda pushed it open. “See for yourself,” she said, rather grimly.

Y/N blinked, registering for the first time the shrieks coming from inside the room. It was none other than Pansy Parkinson, who had been, it seemed, tied forcibly to a chair and was not taking well to the situation. “Let me OUT!” she was screeching furiously, and she was somehow sobbing and radiating blinding rage at the same time, her words directed at Dean Thomas, who had apparently been the one to secure her there. “LET ME GO, YOU ABSOLUTE PIECES OF SHIT—” She stomped her feet and thrashed and scraped the chair around the stone floor as best as she possibly could.

“Y/N,” greeted Dean over Pansy’s screaming, calmly, but also very grim. “As you can see, things are about to get much more interesting around here.”

He gestured to the bed in the room, and Y/N’s heart nearly stopped.

Y/N barely heard Andromeda harshly shush Pansy Parkinson, warning her that she would wake her injured friend unless she kept quiet; nor did she really register Parkinson’s hissed, vicious insults in return.

Y/N’s attention was now entirely focused on the inhabitant of the bed as she stood rooted there in a state of shock at seeing him here: Malfoy, with the bandages wrapped around almost his entire torso. She noted just how pale he had gotten, though his skin had taken on an unhealthy grey tinge; he was much too thin, and there were shadows under his eyes.

“Let’s go over the injuries,” said Andromeda to Y/N quietly, coming up behind her and gripping her shoulder for a moment. “Dean, please move Ms. Parkinson to her own room and lock her in. The windows are enchanted, Ms. Parkinson, so don’t even think about trying to escape that way.”

Pansy Parkinson’s glare was so furious that Y/N half expected her to spit venom. Dean Thomas bravely walked up, merely picked up the entire chair, and began to move her, with Pansy sobbing and protesting in shrieks the whole way.

Andromeda went over the injuries again in a cool, detached voice, though Y/N saw distinct worry in her eyes when they flitted over her nephew.

Crushed ribs.

Damage to some organs.

Internal bleeding.

All fixed quickly and easily.

There was also, apparently, no information about how they had escaped or why, and Pansy Parkinson wasn’t talking.

Andromeda talked to Y/N about Pain Potion and Blood Replenishing doses for him, her voice stiff and almost mechanical in the stuffy little room. She went over salves that could be put on his torso for the pain, and she made sure that Y/N knew just how many times the bandages would have to be exchanged.

Y/N was trying very hard not to stare at him for too long or in a way that was too suspicious, and she certainly didn’t want Andromeda to see that her hands were shaking, thinking of what it would be like when he woke up.

“There’s something else,” said Andromeda, and she pulled out an empty vial. “He had this on him,” she explained. “All I can tell are that the drops still in here are bright orange. I don’t know any potion this color off the top of my head…”

“Me neither,” said Y/N, frowning in thought.

She knew Malfoy had always been particularly adept at potions. It probably wasn’t too far-fetched to assume it had been a potion of his own making. But if so, what had he taken, and why?

“I’m exhausted,” said Andromeda, and indeed, her eyes were drooping.

“I can stay here,” offered Y/N. “I can come get you if he wakes.”

“Thank you,” said the older woman gratefully, patting Y/N’s shoulder and heaving a sigh that was full of woe. Y/N suddenly felt very guilty for wishing things would be more interesting, when, in this world, interesting often meant complicated at best.

* * *

Y/N had dosed in the chair beside Malfoy’s bed, but when she jolted awake suddenly at a quarter to one in the morning, his eyes were open.

“Malfoy!” she gasped, straightening up so quickly that she cricked her neck. “Are you…are you hurting? I can get you something for the pain…” She trailed off, feeling somewhat awkward at the quiet way he was observing her, but then feeling more and more disconcerted when he did not answer. “Malfoy?” she prodded, very cautiously, biting her lip as she examined his face.

She had expected many things from those eyes when he had woken and seen her in front of him. 

Perhaps she had expected them to be angry. Or cold, like the last few times that she had interacted with him. At the very least, she had expected some sort of intensity. He had a very expressive gaze, after all.

It had been one of her favorite things about him, when they had been…

She shook herself a little.

What she had not been expecting was for his eyes to be blank. Empty.

“Malfoy?” she asked again, feeling a thrill of fear go up her spine.

“Who?” he repeated quietly, evenly, and not sounding like his voice at all. “Are you talking to me? And who are you?”

His words sent a nasty blow to her stomach, like a well-delivered hex.

_Oh Merlin, he doesn’t remember…he doesn’t remember anything…_

“You…you don’t know me?” she whispered, voice small.

He arched a confused eyebrow, tilting his head politely. “Should I?”

_Go to Andromeda_ , thought Y/N furiously. _Go get her, now._

Mechanically, she stood, though it felt as if her limbs weren’t working properly. “I’ll be right back, Malfoy,” she said primly, surprised she could get the words out at all over the tightness in her throat. “Are you sure you’re not in pain?”

He just shrugged, moving his gaze apathetically to the ceiling. “I’m fine,” he said listlessly, with a little sigh.

_What did you take?_ Y/N wanted to scream at him. _What potion did you make yourself, and why did you take it? Did you want to do this?_

She hurried away to get his aunt, trying not to panic, not to think of what the time at the safe house would be like now: with Draco Malfoy here, with her, all of her memories of him intact and her longing for him not quite as vanished as she would like it to be; but his memories of her–of _everything_ –gone completely.


End file.
